Sunday, July 23, 2017

Sunday, before the medication arrived, we were sitting here and I was telling P about the video of the dog who brings a carrot out to his horse. He's half listening and I'm all like okay so it's this black dog and he shoots out of his house and goes straight out to the barn, and then you don't see him for a minute and then all of a sudden, he comes out of the barn and he brings this carrot over to the horse and the horse doesn't take it right away, but the dog stands there and then the horse DOES take it and and the dog starts running back-but he gets distracted for a second and starts licking his butt and then he kinda remembers what he was doing and he starts racing back toward the house and P says, wait, the horse was licking the dogs butt? 

Laughing hurts me so much right now it's a beautiful thing. I had to sit here with a pillow across myself to keep my internal organs from flying across the room but oh mah gawd so worth it. This whole being alive thing. Fantastic. 

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Laparoscopic surgery is more painful than open surgery. This is what they told me. It doesn't make a bit of sense, does it? In this surgery, they started laparoscopically-there's two extra holes-but they switched over because I needed additional julienning. 


Crazier still. You know how I've been trrrrrrying to eat better and water aerobicize my sorry ass and all. So, so, so very glad that I did. You should see how the organic popcorn wants to blast through the paper bag. It's so much different from Orville Redenbacher and his grocery-store-shelved ilk. So, I'm there on Friday getting the hardware out of my belly(didn't hurt) and the surgeon reaches over and peels off the shiny tops of the two laparoscopic incisions. Like you'd take the top off a Yoplait. 

Super Glue. He says. The stuff that sealed the incisions is made from the exact same thing.

Shaking my head.  

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I had a-what do you call that? An epiphany-just about an hour or two ago. A big one. Bear with me.

Start with Cheryl Strayed. I got interested in her because one of the people I featured in my library Facebook feature-if you will-happened to be a professor at Loyola(everything is connected) and was just over the moon(<---understatement) about anything that came from the keyboard of Cheryl Strayed. 

I saw Wild. I remember the boots falling. Right? 

And then for some reason I happened on Dear Sugars. That's like this advice podcast that pops up on Facebook here and there. I like to read it more than I ever listened to it but Saturday, I was diddling around here doing some stuff and I decided to listen. It was an episode where they were going to answer a lot of questions all in a row and then the following episode was going to be Oprah taking about saying no. Or something. I'm paying attention and I'm not paying attention. You understand. (See paragraph one.)

Cheryl Strayed mentions her broken relationship with her father. I almost think she did it twice and I'd read about it in her super cool book and I was thinking, Jeez, ya know? Do you never resolve something like that in your head or is it just something you carry forever like an American Express card er whut?

Well, (like many other people),I have my own American Express card of familial disappointment and it just churns in my head continually like for sport. And I thought ya know, maybe if I sang it all the way through(like a song that sticks in your head) maybe then it will go away but it only churns and churns. 

I have a sibling and a nephew and a father. I believe under the current circumstances, these people would be considered my immediate family. Maybe not the nephew. I talk to my Dad every day around 1:30. We are completely cool. 

And there's been four surgeries at Loyola. 2 cancers plus the adrenal gland plus 2 hernia repairs. 

And do you know who's shown up for all of them?


This guy. 


And you know who has taken care of these things?


Yeah. Same guy. 

(You know I've only known him for a couple of years, right?) 

And for a long time, from what I'd read, the reason they say your own people don't show up for each other for these kind of life threatening kinda things is that they're too scared. And for what? A year or two now? I've been kinda jangling that idea around in my head. (She's too scared?!? What about me?)

A high school friend, Susan, died-from lung cancer nosheneversmoked-right before our very eyes on Facebook-I mean, one day she was there laughing so hard and the next day it got Too Quiet and I could not put myself in motion in the direction of her funeral. I just sat here like a maroon and felt numb but this has been Four Separate Occasions. 

Four different pairs of no-slip yellow socks as it were. No call. No card. No visit. No dog walk. No, hey I understand you don't get paid while you're down for the count here's 10 bucks.  No giant bag of delicious fruit because that came from Mary Next Door. No funny book because that came from Lindz. No cookbooks to look at because that came from Patty down the street. No hey what can I do for you/name it because that came from Amy. No I'm praying for you/Girl you look good! because that came from Carlisa pushing carts in the Jewel parking lot. And on and on and on. 


And I realize, this very evening, why Cheryl Strayed has to keep talking about cutting her father out of her life. Because you just cannot believe that something like that could possibly be true and in case the relationship rears its head again, you've got to remember why it died in the first place. 



Got it now. Moving on. 


Boom. 












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